Tomorrow Night
by AuraThundera
Summary: I write Jaws fanfic too! Here, we present the death of Martin Brody. Enjoy.


Tomorrow Night

Tomorrow Night   
Aura Thundera   
[deonii@yahoo.com][1]

*   
Disclaimer: The characters of Jaws do not belong to me.   
* 

Ellen lay with her arm flung over her husband. Martin lay asleep, tossing and turning fitfully. In his dreams, he was still haunted by the specter of the great white shark that followed him, hunted him. 

Ellen wakened as her husband's tossing disturbed her. She had thought Martin's fears to be gone, but she also knew that there was no way to ever heal Martin from the terrible scars left by he encounters with the sharks. 

Martin abruptly awoke, staring at the ceiling with his indigo eyes held open strangely wide. 

"It hurts, Ellen!" He cried abruptly. "IT HURTS!" His left hand clutched at his chest and his right hand rubbed at his left forearm. "Ellen, help me!" 

"Michael!" Ellen cried for her son. "Michael, come help me with you father!" 

"What is it, Mom?" Michael said, stumbling into his parents' bedroom. 

"There's something wrong with your father!" Ellen cried. "Help me get him to the car." 

"You think it's that bad?" Michael asked. 

"I think he's having a heart attack," Ellen said. "All those years of being haunted by the sharks that preyed on the swimmers here finally got him." 

"Sharks...everywhere. Eating me...alive," Martin Brody gasped out. 

"You see?" Ellen said. "Help me get him to the hospital!" 

Michael Brody wordlessly obeyed, lifting his father into his arms and carrying him into the car. Ellen held her husband in the backseat as her son tore off across the island, heading for the small hospital in downtown Amity. 

Michael pulled the car in front of the emergency room and helped his mother carry the still-convulsing Martin inside. 

One day later, Martin had been moved to a hospital on the mainland. He had indeed suffered a severe heart attack, worse than the small hospital on Amity had been able to treat. 

Ellen paced nervously in the waiting room, letting memories of her beloved husband wash over her. She thought of his tender, caring touch and the way in which he nuzzled up to her when he was in an amourous mood. She thought of his slender, powerfully muscled body and how deeply handsome he could look when he chose. 

Of late, Martin Brody had only become more dashing than ever. Age had never robbed him of his well-formed physique, and his hair had begun to go gray. Those few gray streaks only added to his image of masculine charm. 

Ellen also thought of how she had met Martin. Late one night, she had been out with one of her old boyfriends at a nightclub in New York. It had been late when they had left, and the unthinkable had happened. 

A thug appeared out of the pitch-black night and knifed her boyfriend. The thug had run, though, before attempting to rape her, because a police car had come down the street. 

Martin had been a rookie then, on patrol with another officer. Shyly, Ellen had asked the handsome young officer who had saved her for a date. Martin had willingly accepted her phone number. 

In a few days, he called her and took her out to a small bar. He was shy, which suprised her, since he was quite handsome. Ellen noticed that several nearby women eyed her and Martin jealously. Unusually for a man, Martin had never seemed to notice them. 

From that date on, Ellen and Martin had been inseparable. They loved each other deeply, and Ellen had willingly followed where Martin's career led. Even through their hell on earth days on Amity, when Martin had often looked back and wondered whether it was better to be the police chief of a small town, or if it was better to merely by a New York patroller, Ellen had always been proud of him. 

Now, Martin lay dying in a sterile hospital bed. Oh, yes, the doctors were doing all that they could to save him, but Martin had had a massive coronary. 

"Mrs. Brody? You can see your husband now," a nurse announced. 

Ellen rushed anxiously forward, following the nurse. Shaun and Michael followed close behind. 

They entered the deathly quiet room. Martin lay on the bed, his noble face turned toward the ceiling. His hair seemed to bear more gray strands than it had before, and his midnight eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. 

Martin looked so frail, so pathetic, just lying there, that a cold, icy fist wrenched at Ellen's heart. 

Martin turned his face listlessly toward Ellen. Ellen felt the icy hand on her heart clench tighter at the lifeless look in her husband's eyes. 

"So that dratted shark finally got me," Martin said, smiling humourlessly up at his wife. 

"NO!" Ellen shouted. "Don't say that!" 

"Why not?" Martin said. "It's true. Can't you see it?" 

"See what?" Ellen said. "All I see is the man that I love slipping away from me." 

"Her...the woman in white who is holding my hand...the light," Martin whispered. 

"No!" Ellen sobbed into her husband's neck. "Not you! Why now?" 

Martin slumped back, his sightless indigo eyes glazing. 

"No," Ellen sobbed softly, feeling the warmth of life ebbing from her husband's body. "Not you." 

"Mom, no," Ellen heard Michael say as he shifted nervously. "We need to call the funeral parlor...make the arrangements..." 

"You promised me..." Ellen said, too soft for either of her sons to hear. Neither of the boys, for they were boys still, for all that they looked like men, heard the voice that spoke next either. 

_Yes, my love, I promised you that there would always be tomorrow night,_ Ellen heard that beloved tenor voice echo. _And there will always be another tomorrow. I will wait for you._

   [1]: mailto: deonii@yahoo.com



End file.
